We're Home!!

New York was a great way to round off an amazing trip, and on our final evening George and Mrs Suarez gave us a fantasic dinner party with a huge paella and lots of wine and champagne which lasted until 4.30am. Spending our final day with thumping hangovers, we staggered onto our flight and turned our minds to home. Despite moaning about wanting to be back home since Christmas, as we boarded all homesickness evaporated and suddenly I was painfully aware of how much we would miss being on the road. Or maybe I just always think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.... One red-eye later and we were all too quickly touching down in Manchester. The End! And the beginning of a fierce diet-and-fitness regime as, now we have access to a pair of scales, I find I have put on a stone... It will be Slimming World for me on Wednesday!

In a New York Minute...

...ooo-woooo-eeee-oooo!
Etcetera.
Too many songs and cheesy references, so many sights and only 4 days; a challenge even for such superficial tourists as ourselves, but we rose to it.
A 20 hour flight with a bit of time travel thrown in brought us to JFK via LAX before we had actually left Auckland, and despite the poor quality entertainment system on Qantas aircraft I managed to get through nearly four films as well as the usual feed fest on board. Emerging into the NY evening, the cold hit us hard...I was still wearing flip flops to be fair but still. We bundled into the shuttle bus and spent the next 2 hours on a tour of the city's traffic lights in the honking and shoving traffic with our effusive driver. He dropped all and sundry off before he made it to our lodgings, the home of my one-time colleague and friend George, who lives with his madre on "West 91st St, between Amsterdam and Broadway" (best said in a strong yankee accent I find!).
The beautiful apartment is packed full of his family's 800 year history and we were immediately made at home even at that late hour. After we chatted, declining all offers of food and had gone to bed, our body clocks forced us up 2 hours later to raid the fridge...great potato salad!
The first thing to do was get our bearings, and the highest place in the city to do that was obviously the Empire State Building. It was a cold and windy but beautiful day so, sticking on our vagabond shoes and wearing all our clothes, we grabbed a couple of hats and scarves, braved the lift, shared an audio guide and huddled up to listen to "Tony" our guide describe the sights. So far so good, down we came to walk the streets and find the Rockefeller Centre and Grand Central Station. Thinking that would do for the day, we wandered through Central Park and found ourselves at the skating rink...with an hour to kill, why not?! Ravel's Balero it was not, but we both remembered how to do it, neither of us fell and we were only a bit late meeting George in Greenwich at the White Horse...
A few too many pints in the pub where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death was not the best way to deal with our jet lag, and supper in china town hardly soaked it up so we were both awake at dawn and feeling pretty rubbish after our second night's sleep; time to slow down.
The only thing on the agenda in day 2 was a wander round the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where we exploited the "recommended" entry fee clause to the max and wandered in like the pikeys we are, only found out we should pay when I asked a guard where the bathrooms were...but by then we were leaving! The museum is huge and contains the usual Egyptian collection but we concentrated dutifully on the Barcelona and Spanish section (Mrs Suarez has met Picasso and Dali so we thought we ought) and hunted down the thousands of George Washington portraits including him crossing the Delaware. We only got lost a couple of times, including a sticky situation in the Musical Instrument section...
Lunch was calling and next on the list was a traditional diner; we struck gold with a place on Amsterdam, where Napolitan yankees served us spaghetti and meatballs (accent required again) and a glass of cold milk! After a rest in the apartment we followed the lights for an evening on Broadway; just the trick, we had managed to grab tickets for the Lion King and loved every minute of the costumes, spectacle and the ever-so-American audience participation.
The weather closed in for our last full day but still we jumped on the Staten Island ferry to go past Lady Liberty (for free, our kinda way!) and then wander the sobering Ground Zero Memorial...those barrow boys at NYSE have stopped allowing the public to view the trading at the stock exchange (probably to stop us seeing the insider dealing) so we cut our losses and headed back to Rancho Suarez for his mum's rice and chorizo...with the promise of a little paella even?!

Goodbye Auckland, Hello New York

Well after an up-and-down last week, involving lots of Tommy related problems and then 3 days kicking our heels at a dive of a hostel in Auckland, we're finally getting out of here today. We have a 19 hour flight to New York via LA, and as we're crossing the date line, for us the 20th March will last about 40 hours. It feels like the end of an era, but at the moment we're just happy to be on our way. I'm sure when we get to New York we'll start to bemoan the end of a fab and epic trip. This feels very much the home strait now, only 5 more days til Sunday lunch in North Wales!
So, we'll see you in New York!

Comic Relief Part Two

Unfortunately we didn't get in. We're consoling ourselves in the knowledge that the 100 who did get published seem all to be "media personalities" or already published or famous. Anyway, as Andy said, they've missed a trick! You can buy the Shaggy Blog Stories book here.

Lenny Henry isn't funny anyway...

Goodbye Tommy

At last we managed to get Tommy out of the garage - after a very hefty bill we scurried back to Auckland, having missed out on seeing most of the Bay of Islands because of firstly the weather and then being surgically attached to car mechanics. We managed to see NZ's tallest Kauri tree on our way down south though, at 51 metres tall its very impressive and reputed to be 2000 years old.
Then to Auckland where we had two potential buyers lined up for Tommy. The first neglected to tell us she'd already bought another van (thanks for letting us know...!) and the second seemed less than keen and didn't even take him for a test drive. We trundled back to the holiday park with heavy hearts - having just spent 800 bucks on repairs we started to lose hope that we would ever get our money back. After a contemplative fish and chips eaten in the van in the dark, the phone beeped. And no, it was not Mother (as is usual) but a lady called Avis who was interested in our van. Suddenly things were starting to look up. Next morning however, all attempts to contact Avis failed and we were again plunged into despair. Andy tried one last attempt from the phone box and lo and behold, got through. We arranged to meet, thinking that we could swing by the backpacker car auctions on the way back, all backpackers' last option before abandoning vans at the side of the road. However, a preliminary interest from Avis grew as she saw (a) our home made pink curtains and (b) our fabulously clean and tidy cooker. To our great surprise (as she had said that she thought she'd probably fly to Christchurch and buy one there), Avis bought our Tommy. One quick internet transfer later and Andy and I were a little richer and minus one van. If it weren't for the huge repair costs we would have broken even on buying Tommy.
Avis took delivery this morning and Andy and I are once again using foot power to get around and staying in hostels like ordinary skanky backpackers. First stop, the frankly not very irish St Patrick's Day parade.

Comic Relief

Apparently its this Friday and even though we're all the way over the other side of the world, we've sort of managed to get involved.... At least we don't have to watch it. A guy called Mike has set himself a challenge to publish a book of funny stories from bloggers. He's asked everyone to contribute one post, and we've entered!! Click on his name for details.
Anyway we've entered this post about Tajikistan, as being our most random, and we've had a bit of interest back from Mike himself. So, crossed fingers we might be published authors!! We'll hear by midnight on Thursday (your time) and on Friday we'll have a link on the blog where you can buy copies.
How exciting!!
Are you impressed with my new found linking skills?
Oh, van still in garage. Lots of money being spent. Trapped in tiny town called Kerikeri and can't escape. No van = nowhere to live. Bad bad bad.

Tommy Getting Some Intensive Care

Well, a simple warranty of fitness has turned out not to be quite so simple... A few squeaks and groans have turned into $700 worth of work on poor Tommy - he was soldiering through and trying not to complain and all the time he was on his last legs. We have had a girl on the phone interested in buying him (thank god!) and the law states he has to be looking his best on point of sale. Andy and I can now be found on street corners in the Auckland area shaking tins to raise the money to come home... any contributions gratefully received!

Treaty of Waitangi

Having zoomed through Auckland in three hours, touring almost every hostel in the Lying Planet to put up our van adverts, we have come up through Northland to the Bay of Islands. We're staying in Kerikeri, a small town on the northern edge of the bay. Although the weather has been pretty grey and miserable, we thought we'd better do some sightseeing... to this end we found ourselves at Waitangi, the site in 1840 of the Treaty of Waitangi which was an historic agreement between the Maori leaders and the Pakeha or white men. This gave the Maori autonomy over their lands, animals and fishing rights in exchange for their acceptance of British sovereignty.
Lieutenant-Governor William Hobson and James Busby, the British Resident in New Zealand had the task of securing British sovereignty over New Zealand. The Treaty was prepared in just a few days. Missionary Henry Williams and his son Edward translated the English draft into Māori overnight on 4 February. About 500 Māori debated the document for a day and night, and it was signed on 6 February.
Hobson and others stressed the Treaty's benefits while playing down the effects of British sovereignty on rangatiratanga (chieftainship or authority). Reassured that their status and authority would be strengthened, many chiefs supported the agreement. About 40 chiefs, starting with Hone Heke, signed the Māori version of the Treaty on 6 February. By September that year, another 500 had signed copies of the document that went around the country. Some signed while remaining uncertain; others refused, or had no chance to sign. Almost all signed the Māori text. The Colonial Office in England later declared that the Treaty applied to Māori tribes that had not signed. Sovereignty was proclaimed over the country on 21 May 1840.
Here endeth the lesson! We looked at impressive Maori traditional canoes, made in the traditional manner of the ones used for the original journey from Tahiti, and saw the Treaty House, erected on the 100th anniversary of the treaty in 1940 and decorated with all the differing patterns and insignia of each tribe.

Kia Ora!

Never have we uttered the name of an orange soft drink so often and with such passion!
Still in Rotorua, we signed up for a little Maori cultural immersion and took part in a traditional (for tourists anyway) hangi, or feast. Picked up from our campsite by the larger-than-life Manahi, we journeyed the hotels and motels of the town collecting our fellow participants until we reached the cultural centre, there to be transported back in time and place to join the pre-Maori tribes in Tahiti, preparing for the long sea voyage to "the land of the long white cloud". We were all allocated our canoe, or waka, which looked a little like our coach but was now called Kea, and then paddled our way to the new land...
On the way it was decided the Kea waka tribe needed a Rangatiri, or chief; someone brave, intelligent and, er, handsome. A number of hands went up apparently but since I'd been talking to Mahani about rugby it must have been easy for him to select me... and because of all the above, of course!
So the new chief of Kea waka learned of his fate; destined to receive the te wero, traditional challenge and welcome of the Maori and lead the tribe into the village, running a gauntlet of bravery which could result in death if we failed! Once it was explained that I just had to stand still and be shouted and gesticulated at, it seemed my military training had all been worthwhile after all; just like a day on the parade ground!
Along with the 4 chiefs from the other waka, I stood and received the challenge; stone still and upright, I must have shown a more defiant image than the others (who, to be fair, consisted of a load of clueless geriatric French and Eastern Europeans) as I received the lions share of screams, stares and tongues, not to mention spear thrusts past the head! For this I was offered a fern leaf to mark me as the overall chief and picked it up to confirm our peaceful intentions.
At last we entered the village and toured the traditional stands of huts, kitchens and examples of pre-European lifestyle in New Zealand before being called forward to receive a welcome speech, songs and examples of traditional dance and games.
Every new demonstration or display required us to shout our assent of kia ora, the multi-purpose greeting and assent of the Maori language; now that we had all been initiated and welcomed into this passionate culture, our participation was tangibly more enthusiastic although we were all more than ready for supper!
The hangi we were offered, in the preferred buffet format of course, consisted of pre-European food available to the maori (although lamb had managed to find its way in there) which had all been steamed in an underground hot-rock oven. The addition of a bottle of plonk from the non-traditional bar set Rach and her Rangatiri up splendidly and we spent the rest of the night chatting to our table guests.
The Maori experience was pretty much over; a really funny, engaging, professional and worthwhile experience we're glad we signed up for. Even on the way back the coaches carried on the act, although unfortunately for the coach Manahi demanded the chief sing his tribe a song! Luckily a rendition of "Show me the way to go home", complete with university version, went down OK and Rach and I took our leave from the coach in town for a deserved Friday night drink.
Next stop is Auckland to advertise Tommy in all the hostels and cafes so we can sell him...
In the meantime I shall be updating my CV with my latest leadership experience! Kia Ora!

Milking a Cow...

Fun With Sheep, Kiwi Style

No, not quite that much fun... but a good morning spent at the "Agrodome" outside Rotorua. We saw a fab and really funny show introducing many breeds of sheep with a shearing demonstration, sheepdog trials including a dog herding a couple of ducks round the stage and a cow milking demo in which yours truly (after leaping up and down with my hand in the air) was selected to milk a cow live on stage. Another bizarre yet interesting trip out!

Ever Been Bitten By A Prawn?

To Andy's amusement, yesterday saw us setting off from Taupo to visit Huka Prawn Park, one of only two geothermically heated prawn farms in the world, the other is owned by the same people and based in Iceland. The farm was set up next door to a geothermic electricity plant which uses the water which cascades down Huka Falls to produce electricity. The warmed waste water is then diverted into the prawn farm where the prawns, which are originally from Malaysia, bask in the tropical temperatures. We signed up for the 11am tour, and our guide, who knew more than anyone else in the world about prawns, took us through the process. First we visited a couple of large fish tanks where we were (un)lucky enough to view some "prawnography". Then we were led through to the breeding pools where each male hangs out with his harem of up to 7 females, fighting with the other males and producing 36 million young in two years, impressive! The farm has a 75% survival rate - thats a lot of prawns. By this time we were quite surprised at how much there was to know about prawns and how interesting it was! I got brownie points for asking a good question; "Er, is that one dead?" "Oh, yes it seems to be, oops!". A new career as a prawn farmer beckons? After having a good look at the millions of tiny babies, we got to feed some of the older prawns that were about 6 months old. Bizarrely they were all different sizes from miniscule to quite tasty. This was where Andy learned something of his own - he's a prawnophobic. No matter what he could not be induced to put his hand in the tank and let the prawns nibble the food out of his palm. The occasional yelps from the rest of the group who were getting the odd bite from one of the big ones didn't help. It did feel very weird, having prawns nibbling and climbing all over your hand. However we couldn't hang about for Andy to conquer his fear, off we went to view the prawn pools, have a go on the prawn related "fun" stuff and feed the trout in the river. At this point the heavens opened, the tour was over and we ran back to the restaurant to sample some of these delicious crustaceans for lunch. After a prawn pate and shrimp cocktail was tried our hand at prawn fishing. This was to take up most of the afternoon... Given a bamboo stick, a hook and some chopped ox heart, off we went, dreaming about big piles of steaming garlic prawns for dinner. An hour and a half later, and Andy finally landed one, to a general cheer from me and the others around the pool who had been glumly staring into the water all afternoon. Andy's pleasure soon turned to horror when he realised that, in front of a crowd of onlookers, he was going to have to wrestle this thing off the hook and actually touch it! Eventually I came to his rescue, swallowing my own revulsion I managed to get the thing round the waist (with it clutching my finger imploringly with one pincer) and between us we got the hook out and manhandled it into the small metal bucket containing iced water which we had optimisticlly been given. The excitement!! Then, back to gazing hopefully into the water for another hour - me frantically hoping for a catch of my own to even things up. It was not to be. Thoughtfully contemplating the metal bucket an hour later, I was surprised to see a couple of tentacles waving over the side. About to ask Andy if he'd given the thing a knock on the head, my question was answered when under my watchful gaze Mr Prawn made an impressive bid for freedom, leaping bodily over the rim, landing on the boardwalk and moving towards the water in a style which was frankly much faster than I would ever guess that a prawn can move on land. My yelling alerted most of the Prawn Park to the escape of our dinner, arrested only when Andy executed a flying tackle on the little bugger and flung him back into the bucket, safely resting an umbrella on the top. Well, for the rest of the afternoon our tally came to only two prawns, thrown back into the water in disgust at 4.30pm. We had Chinese takeaway for tea.